by Gina Danna
Chapter 29
“Negro property is the most unmanageable property and has been our ruin.”
—A Southerner master whose slaves ran to Union lines for freedom.
Next morning
* * *
Will Leonard arrived at Sweet Briar in time for breakfast. He was energized, still working on how to accomplish what he needed to do, before this entire event backfired. It’d taken every tactic he had to arrange this furlough, but it might not be long enough to complete everything.
He walked into the house and found the houseguests were in the dining room, He headed there, needing to check in with Ada but wasn’t exactly sure what he’d gotten into when he breezed through the open doors.
“Good morning!” He greeted only to come to a complete stop. At the table before him, he found Ada and the Confederate across the table from each other, eyes glued on each other instead of the breakfast before them. She was dressed in her usual style dress, a simple calico day dress with prim collar and cuffs, her hair pulled back to a braided bun and simple earbobs. Fontaine was dressed, though only in shirtsleeves and waistcoat and trousers, with his dark hair smoothed back and a half cock grin on his lips. They looked like a married couple. Will shook his head, not sure what he’d interrupted, but this appeared way more personal than a doctor and patient.
Ada broke the locked gaze and turned toward Will with a smile. “Good morning, Dr. Leonard. How nice of you to join us.”
The flash across the rebel’s face was hardly warm. Will ignored it.
“Of course, you know I couldn’t stay away.” He walked up and kissed the back of her hand. He gave the Confederate a nod. “Good morning, sir. Trust you have no dire pains from last night’s escapade.”
“None are noticeable, doctor.” The man watched him warily. He couldn’t blame him. Being in Yankeeland and with a Union surgeon here, the ex-prisoner knew his luck could change. Will appreciated that.
“Will, will you have a bite?” Ada asked as the servant handed him a cup of coffee.
Will inhaled the caffeinated drink. “You never know just how much you miss a good cup of this stuff until you’re stuck at the front.” He grinned and took a sip. Over the edge of the cup, he could see a slight impatience in her, which intrigued him. Particularly when he saw a similar, though colder, reflection on the rebel. What was going on here? As to the invitation to join them, he finally responded, “As to partaking of this fine repast with you, I must decline. I’ve had breakfast and still have errands to attend. I just needed a few things.”
“Are you leaving?” She sounded a bit panicked.
“My leave wasn’t granted for the length of yours. Waxler is a tyrant, one that doesn’t rejoice in the holidays, even directing us from his own enforced leave.” He snorted as he put the empty cup down. “But I am curious if you’ll be at the Amherst soiree tonight. My last hurrah, so to speak, before returning to the drudgery of ill and grumpy patients.”
“Amherst’s? No, I hadn’t thought so—”
“Reginald Amherst? The shipping king?” the Confederate piped in.
Will frowned at him. “You know who he is?”
The southerner gave him a lazy smile. “Old family acquaintance.”
“Yes, well, you are correct. They have a holiday soiree tonight. Light dancing, games and festivities.” He turned to Ada and pleaded, “Please tell me you’ll come.”
She chewed her bottom lip, a reaction that always held his attention, because he wanted to soothe it from the scraping her teeth gave it…. the mere reaction made him mentally shake. Despite all the years he’d known her, he could never grab her attention the way he desired. No, instead she wasted her time on that lowlife scoundrel, Peregoy.
“I had not sent a reply. It may be considered too late,” she finally answered.
Will beat back the disappointment that threatened. He needed her to attend. “I’m sure a simply failure of the post to deliver would be understandable, considering the current state of affairs. Besides, it’s a rather large event.”
“If it would not be considered rude, yes, I’ll go.” She gave him a smile. “What time will I expect you to pick me up?”
“I think we all will go about seven.”
“All?” Her eyes widened and he caught the rebel’s eyebrows inch higher.
“Of course. You can’t leave your prisoner alone,” he smirked. He reached for a pastry off the buffet, adding, “Until tonight, adieu!” And he left the room with a chuckle, for mimicking the rebel’s French accent and for getting what he wanted.
He’d told her in the beginning he’d find a way to erase the Confederate’s escape and he had discovered one. Their attending tonight was a win for him and his plan and that made him wash away the silent glances on their faces. Affection could not be happening, he reassured himself, because Fontaine stood for everything she despised about the South. She could never be falling for him…
Ada sat in the library, reading the mail Will had brought for her, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, her mind kept returning to last night.
She lay on the mattress, inhaling deeply, still heated from their lovemaking. Never in her life had she thought she’d be in a bed, panting like an animal, hot and glistening from mating. Nothing had prepared her for this.
A male chuckle rose and the mattress crumbled as he turned toward her, propping his head up on his arm. “You are beautiful.”
The compliment was simple and one he’d already uttered to her at the ball. But now, she wasn’t in an elegant gown, all powdered and coiffured for a night of dancing. Now she wore nothing but her stockings and a layer of him.
“You are very free with that compliment, sir.”
“Ah, but it is true.” He bent forward and suckled on her exposed, still hardened nipple. His teeth scathed the tender skin, washed in his saliva. The motion set off a flurry of pulses through her body, branching from her breast down to her core.
“We should get up,” she murmured, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of being naked next to him. She braced her palms down to push up when his arm snaked around her middle and scooping her closer to him.
“Maybe.” He nipped at her neck, upping her heat level again.
“You’re not tired?” she asked, when his now hardened cock nudged against her hip. “Is your ankle sore?”
“Mais, non,” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling against her skin.
“Your French accent is more pronounced now.”
“Perhaps you bring out the animal in me.”
“Animals talk in French?”
He laughed. “You talk too much.” And he flipped her onto her back. He separated her thighs with his knee and wedged himself between them, lifting her hips with his hands and slid right into her inviting core. She couldn’t help the mewl that escaped her lips when he filled her.
Neither said another word but panted and moaned as they reached higher and higher. She swore he touched her womb and she exploded like a volcano erupting, stars bursting inside her head as he gave that final thrust with a groan, his seed filling her core.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms, still silent like him. But when the sun had barely peeked above the horizon, he’d awakened her with tiny kisses, waking every nerve inside her. Tipping her on her back, he’d raised her hips with a pillow. She’d opened her eyes to find a handsome Creole above her, his dark hair sleepily messed and his eyes dark with passion. His chest, covered in dark hairs, raised up and down as he breathed deeply.
Then, still quiet, he lowered his head between her legs and licked the slit to her core. The sensation nearly took her breath away. A tremor started inside her, the wetness gushing out as his tongue teased her. Her hips began to roll and she felt the pressure inside that overwhelmed the embarrassment of him doing this to her rumpled self. He was bringing her again to that point of explosion when he stopped and gave her a grin.
Her body was so busy begging for his return that it stole her voice. She could on
ly groan, reaching for him when he stretched and fell across her, his erect manhood sliding right inside her. Again, they danced the ancient dance and, amidst moans and gasps, her world turned upside down as he unloaded his seed, his tightened rod vibrating deep inside her.
They remained that way, locked in an embrace until they cooled some. He pulled up, giving her a Cheshire cat grin and he rolled out of the bed. Scooping up his littered clothes, he gave her a nod and slipped out of the room as quietly as he could.
She realized when he left her, the loneliness she’d hidden most of her life, now filled her enough to make her want to cry. He was everything she despised. Why was she longing for him now?
Mad at herself, she got up, went straight to the washstand and with the linen rag, scrubbed every inch of her she could, particularly her breasts and the apex of her thighs. She then picked up her clothes, laying them across the straight back chair, straightening the room as if nothing had happened, and crawled back into bed.
By morning, she met him for breakfast and all that anger that filled her last night dissipated when he gave her that seductive glance. She was hooked, until Will arrived…
She groaned in anger. Pushing the memories of last night to the back of her mind, making sure any of the pleasant parts laid buried. Mad at herself, she wondered what was wrong with her to sleep with him? Could Will tell of her transgression? Would Richard know? Oh, how she had betrayed the man who loved her. She wanted to scream.
Chapter 30
“No, no, mix ‘em up. I’m tired of States’ Rights.”
—General George Henry Thomas at a Union cemetery at Orchard Knob when chaplain as if burials should be by state like other cemeteries.
Amherst Mansion, New York City
* * *
Again, they were at a social gala that made Ada’s skin itch. Laughter filled the air along with the scent of evergreens and lilies. Greenery swung from every rafter, ribbons of red and gold woven in that danced off the candlelight. Men in Union blue, officers from what she could tell with insignia and designations, drank with New York’s wealthy and the ladies attending vied for every man of standing who might be single. The laughter is what ate at her soul, for she knew of the hundreds who’d never see another holiday, dance another dance or attend a soiree ever again, thanks to this awful war. The thousands who now lay in the hospital beds, recovering—or dying—or sick with illnesses most here would never see. What would these people think if they knew of those soldiers? Would they stop? Would they help? Outside of donations to the Sanitary or Christian Commissions, no, and even that was doubtful.
“Here, drink this before you go make a scene.”
Ada snapped out of her inner conflict to find Francois shoving a champagne glass into her hand. She eyed him with a narrow gaze. “Was I that obvious?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her his lopsided grin, knowing it’d get her to smile. It always did and succeeded now.
The man was too dapper in his black frock coat, gray waistcoat and black trousers. Those sapphire eyes sparkled in the candlelight, amusement hinting at his lips. He could take her to ecstasy and destroy her with one southern lilt. Whenever he touched her, she melted. But then left to her own devices, reminding herself of who he was, turned her blood to ice. He was tearing her apart.
“You realize Christmas is in four days.”
She took a sip of the bubbly drink to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. “Yes, I seem to recall that.”
He twisted his lips, deep in thought. “And your furlough is over when?”
“Six days after. Travel will be needed then to arrive back in the capital by the second.” She smiled. Work. There was a certain amount of comfort and clarity in that.
“Would you like to dance?”
That caught her off guard. “Are you sure you want to? After last night’s gala, it might pressure you too much, slow your recovery.”
He shrugged. “I’d rather risk that over standing here, seeing Federal blue and trying to be polite. Keeping me on the dance floor will distract me.”
“As long as we dance,” she replied. “And nothing more.”
“You slay me,” he moaned, clutching his hand over his heart in a dramatic fashion and it made her laugh. He snorted with a smile and put their glasses down.
He escorted her to the dance floor and swung her in front of him right as the string quartet strummed the first chords. “As always, my beautiful angel graces me with a waltz.”
She tightened. Waltz? Shaking off the tension that threatened, she put her hand on his shoulder and the other in his palm, quickly reminding him, “It is a dance. Remember your space.”
“Oh, darlin’, but I like to be in your space.” He leaned in. “And inside you.”
Her mouth went dry right as the music started. He gracefully led her around the dance floor, in a space that he confined to one area but his moves led her to believe it was all over. The steps were smooth, and she watched his face, looking to see if he was in pain but he masked it well. Eventually, she relaxed and let him lead her, content to have a moment of no pressure. Since Will had picked them up, the atmosphere in the carriage and the first few moments after they’d arrived were edgy. Francois was his usual silent self, or his old self. It took her a few minutes to reconcile that since he’d taken her, his quietness had evaporated into conversation, one that always hinted at seduction. But up to that one comment, he’d remained quiet and that had thrown her off.
“See? Music is the key to our souls.”
She giggled. “Dancing seems to be.”
“Except for that fella over there,” he nodded to the left.
She glanced over. The couple dancing to the right were having a difficult time. The man was stumbling through the steps and she looked like she wanted to kill him. It made her laugh.
“Thankfully, that isn’t us.”
He gave her a quizzical glance. “How so?”
“Your injury, my dear sir, could have been much worse.”
“Amen! God deemed you fit to fix this old soul and I thank you,” he said as they came to a stop, the last strum of the strings indicating it was over. He pulled her hand up to his lips. As he kissed the back of her hand, he winked at her.
Her cheeks flooded with heat. Charming, he got her blushing and she mulled the response she wanted to give. But before she had a chance to say a word, he took her arm and escorted her back to the spot he gotten her from.
“I am parched!” He tugged at his collar. “May I get you a drink as well?”
The room did seem rather warm. “Yes, that would be delightful.”
He gave her a half bow and told her he’d be right back. She watched him walk away. Despite the dance last night and this spin on the floor, he was managing his pace rather smoothly. She was rather pleased, because despite her attempt to fix the break, that part of his foot made it hard to tell if she was successful on the operating table, and afterwards. Once this dance was over, and they returned home, she’d insist he rest.
That thought made her scan the room for Will. He’d hinted he had a plan…
“Well, hello darling.”
She jerked her head to the right, the smile on her face growing by the moment.
“Richard!”
Francois made it across the room, stifling the pain that screamed inside him. The waltz should’ve been a slow dance, and it was, except his foot ached and if given a choice, his body would’ve refused him the dance, but the opportunity to have her in his arms drove him onward. If what Dr. Leonard suggested was true, their time together was almost at its end and he needed to drink every memory with her in.
Once at the refreshment table, as the servant poured the drinks, Francois looked up and found the host, Reginald Amherst. Francois wanted to chuckle. He’d met the man years ago, at a lawn party here in New York. Amherst Shipping specialized in sugar and cotton transport, a commodity in short supply, he thought. But the man still had boats and one way to return South was by wa
ter. His ticket home stood at the end of the table, retrieving a glass of champagne. He wondered if the shipper would remember him. Taking a gulp as he lifted the glasses served him, and straightening his back, he took a step toward him.
“Mr. Amherst, I wanted to extend my thank you for a grand evening.” When the elder man narrowed his gaze, his brows furrowing, Francois added, “Francois Fontaine, sir.”
“Ah, yes, Pierre Fontaine’s son? Louisiana, correct?”
Francois grinned. “Oui, I wondered if you remembered my family.”
The older man chuckled. “Throwing that French at me, just like the ole times. When things flowed so much better, hey? Cheers!”
Francois raised his glass. “Cheers.”
Reginald Amherst was a few pounds heavier than Francois recalled. The large sideburns and mustache also an addition. The shipping magnate was dressed in the best wool frock coat and waistcoat, in jewel tones, with black trousers and white gloves looped over his frock coat pockets. Obviously, the war had not hit his pocketbooks. Francois inwardly grumbled.
“What brought a good Southern boy like you up here?”
Francois snorted, looking down at his injured foot. “Unexpected business.” He straightened, pushing his shoulders back. “As you might recall, the Fontaines own a house near here.”
“Ha, like the rest of you rich planters. Come north to beat the summer heat. I had forgotten.” He downed another gulp.
Francois waggled his lips, his mind racing. Amherst ran one of the top shipping lines in the north. He knew his father had done business with several, but Amherst Shipping was always one of the major lines Pierre Fontaine utilized for the sugar they harvested. That got his mind turning.
“How has business run for you now? Not much cotton or sugar to haul, I’d reckon.”
Amherst shook his head. “Sadly, the usual consignments have been terminated with the blockade. It has made me going to haunts like the West Indies for sugar. Feisty set down there, those Europeans. They’re making a killing on the War, of course.” He gave Francois a narrow gaze. “Periodically, we send boats to the Carolinas and Florida, when we can, that is.”